


give me the worst of you, ‘cause i want you anyway

by secret_starkid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Developing Relationship, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-07-27 06:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret_starkid/pseuds/secret_starkid
Summary: Lance McClain is fifteen when he meets Keith Kogane for the first time...a series of snapshots throughout the development of Lance and Keith’s relationship. canon is a candle and i just lit the wick so we’ll see how the wax melts.This work has been abandoned- if you want me to post the remainder of what I have drafted, let me know.





	1. you got me right in the palm of your hand and you know it

Lance McClain is fifteen when he meets Keith Kogane for the first time. It’s at a summer informational meeting for students planning to attend the Galaxy Garrison, and it’s awkward and short and tentative, as all first meetings no doubt are, with one boy hidden behind the protective shield of a confident stride and a carefully-carefree smile methodically set in place, and another defending against advances, friendly or not, with wild ferocity disguised as off-putting nonchalance in the form of a pair of crossed arms.

The former walks up and thrusts out his hand with the determination of someone who has learned friends can be harder to make than enemies, especially when everything from his Cuban heritage to his short attention span to the way he occasionally spends nights secretly wondering if boys are supposed to look as attractive as girls do screams _ this boy does not belong _. He has a certain cool fire in his chest as he does, because excitement is flaring through every lanky inch of his body and he needs to share it with someone.

The latter appraises him with a single glance, jaw set out at the world as if it had hurt him personally- it had, but Lance didn’t know that yet-, dark eyes glittering like diamonds, molded by the enduring pressure of everything from the pitying glances left by strangers visiting the home looking for a little kid who’d call them _ Mom _ or _ Dad _ to the broken promises of return made by people who never came home to the struggle of figuring out things about himself alone when, as the first boy would someday, under very different circumstances, whisper _ someone should have been there _. He has a wooden hello stuck to his teeth like taffy, because a cold apprehension is warning him against making friends when he doesn’t know how to keep them.

Fire from a boy extending a hand catches onto wood from a boy afraid to take it, and both get burned from the flames. It burns slow and fast and all at once, and Shiro steps in to break up the tension as voices raise and emotions run high. The former’s friendly introduction dies in his mouth as the latter spits something scornful before he can help it, a defense mechanism working overtime. It’s a few short words, nothing meant to truly cut the boy in front of him, something slightly snide about how _ he’s in the wrong place if he’s looking for a kid to become besties and braid hair with _, but Lance’s grin has turned shaky, angry, and maybe a little sad, and Keith’s glower conceals a small voice wishing he had at least tried, maybe left wanting for that hypothetical friend he’d derided. It’s the first time Lance meets Keith, and the first-but not last-time the two butt heads.

* * *

Lance McClain is sixteen when he sees Keith Kogane break for the first time. He’s finding his way back from dinner, exploring the Garrison in the way every student does until they’ve been there for upwards of a year, unusually alone- his roommate Hunk was at an evening lab and his other friends were still in the mess hall, discussing the failed Kerberos mission, the hurried and callous announcement over the intercom, the curious muttering growing even as a horrible pit deepens in Lance’s stomach at the thought of three people knowing they’ll all die far from home and the ones they love, when he hears a muffled, guttural, pained cry in the next hallway, ripped from somebody’s throat against their will, and all his protective defenses go up. He’s got a big family (there’s too many to count) and in his book anyone who was alone and scared could count on a Cuban familial defense from him. Someone could be being _ attacked _ for all he knew!

Lance picks up the pace, wary to walk into anything unfamiliar but concern growing by the second. He rounds the corner with a fist clenched and held high the way Veronica had taught him when he was nine after he found himself severely outmatched in a schoolyard fight, but lowers it quickly at the sight before him; Keith Kogane is curled into himself, leaning against a wall as if his legs had given out beneath him. He’s not quite crying, but his breath is coming out in fast, shallow, shaky puffs and his face is contorted in honest-to-god anguish and there’s a fist-shaped dent in the plaster just above where he sits, and Lance can imagine the way Keith’s hand no-doubt smarts at the impact.

He hesitates, torn on what to do as the quick-as-a-blink memory of being told yet again he didn’t belong in the place he’d worked for _ years _ to get to, of being shot down before he could reach for a single finger gun, replays with surprising clarity. There’s an ugly piece of him that whispers ** _leave_ ** _ him _, the part that tried for literal weeks to befriend this kid with a mullet and for longer to beat him at anything, but Lance McClain has had over sixteen years learning to keep the devil on his shoulder at bay and he’s not about to give in now.

Keith looks up belatedly, a glimpse of eyes, terrifyingly cold before they flicker away as Lance sits down heavily beside him, brows furrowed even as grief ransacks his features. His fingers are wrapped tight around his communication device, knuckles white and taut, and Lance can just make out the title of the news article: “_ Kerberos Mission Fails Due To Pilot Error: Takashi Shirogane, Samuel Holt, and Matthew Holt Presumed Dead _”.

And it all makes sense.

Lance knew Keith and Shiro were close. He’d seen the former follow the latter through their halls, a rare humor shining in his eyes and a familial bond between the two evident in the way he leaned to bump up against the junior officer, to smile in admiration at Shiro, even to smirk teasingly and Lance had felt a disagreeable but unexplainable knot tighten in his stomach.

And now? Shiro was dead.

Keith looks destroyed. His lip is quivering even as he chews it to shreds. He’s lost, and the boy who’s the king of letting himself float adrift in unfamiliar waters and finding his way home through stars obscured by clouds doesn’t know how to show this burnt-out firework he can be found.

Lance swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Keith.” He doesn’t have a word to say to him, but he knows what he wants to say. _ Keith, Keith, please tell me you know you’re not alone, Keith, I’m so sorry, Keith, look at me. _

“He’s not dead.” Keith snarls, tossing his communicator to the ground where the screen cracks, and Lance flinches at the intensity of his tone as he buries sadness under rage.

“Dude-are you-“

“He’s ** _not_ **.” There’s a certain bitterness laced within his anger, and Keith sways slightly as he launches himself to his feet. Lance can do nothing but follow, skinny arms pushing up from the floor to slide into a practiced slouch meant to put those around him at ease. “They’re- they’re lying. They have to be.” At that, Keith’s fists clench tighter, if even possible, and he starts into a brisk stride, down the hallway, toward the… staff room? Lance keeps up with the stomping pace, knowing he’s hardly invited but coming along anyway, because why not?

He pauses, however, when Keith reaches for the door; he’s here on scholarship, he literally can’t afford to come along on a nutcase rampage.

So he pauses, and Keith doesn’t look back, pausing for a minuscule moment before yanking on the handle. Keith’s fire has never been put out, and Lance’s spark genuinely wants to join him in setting the whole place ablaze, if what he says is true. Keith is burning slow and fast and all at once, and he desperately yearns to back him up. But he can’t, he _can’t_, so he tempers his own heat and stays frozen outside the door as Keith Kogane yells as if something inside him has been lost forever, screams something like _Adam, how can you buy _**_into_**_ this? _and _you dirty scheming _**_motherfuckers_**_ how can you sit here and lie to everyone_ and _I’m never going to stop, _**_never_** and so much more. He’s there when security is called, there when Keith is held back by three separate members of security, there when an irate Iverson is the first to notice him in the corner and snaps for him to _beat it, cargo pilot_, and there when Keith is officially kicked out, eyes darting all around with a certain frantic energy, stopping right on Lance before continuing on as he spits swears with deadly venom and makes his exit. It’s the first time Lance sees Keith break into a million pieces, each one sharp as a shard of glass, and the first time he stays.

* * *

Lance McClain is seventeen when he recognizes Keith Kogane from the back of his head through a pair of binoculars, sees him for the first time in a year. Pidge and Hunk look at each other, at him, and then back at each other, but he’s too busy scrambling over rocks, too eager to follow him to notice the exchange. There’s too much emotion evident on his face, too much vulnerability in the way he stares after Keith’s silhouette, so he blurts something out about how he’d recognize him anywhere, only realizing how true the statement is after it comes out of his mouth. (His brain is like that sometimes, where he doesn’t filter out what he means to say from what he says. And it is true, the hard-headed mullet’s visage has left an imprint in his memory-y’know, from all those days sitting behind him in classes.)

He sprints, though, and when he sees Keith’s face for the first time in a year, he stutters to a halt. His mouth keeps going, though, so he finds himself blurting out something about saving Shiro and being Keith’s rival. But Keith only replies with a distracted, distant question: “Who are _ you _?” And it stings, for a minute, and he explains their rival-dynamic, his voice mildly higher with a slight desperate lilt.

Keith doesn’t remember their rivalry. He doesn’t remember a single damn thing. Not the introduction, not the rivalry, not even that night in the hallway. And it hurts, in a way, that Lance has put so much energy into keeping up with someone who’ll never notice he’s there, and the hurt only grows when Keith’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, wait, I remember you. You’re a _ cargo _ pilot.”

And shit, if that one doesn’t land home. There have been too many late nights staring at textbook pages, words swimming and attention failing, just to keep up with the golden fighter pilot who threw it all away in a moment for a guy lost in space. There’ve been too many conversations with his family as they tried to figure out finances, because with more family members than could fit at one table, many of them planning on pursuing tough fields, there’s not enough money to go around. There’ve been too many drafts written and rewritten and re-rewritten for his scholarship essay that he needed just to _ get _ here. There’s been so much riding on all of this. And when Keith left, Lance moved up. He tells Keith this, with the slightest hint (read: overt undertone) of bitter pride.

Even as Keith gives a snarky “Congratulations!”, the two are hoisting Shiro up, moving quickly, prioritizing. They’re all on Keith’s bike before anyone can protest, and the lunatic literally drives them off a cliff, all the while making some sharp jab about Lance being unnecessary that wriggles beneath his skin and sits, poking and prodding at a sensitive area of his heart that’s still bright red, burned scarred from a certain boy’s uncontrollable fire.

But he’s seen Keith again. He knows he’s alright, didn’t die of dehydration or starvation or heat stroke in the fiery dry desert.

And a mixture of relief and anger stays there, still smoldering slow and fast and all at once. It’s the first time Lance sees Keith in a year and it sticks with him.

* * *

Lance McClain is a little older than seventeen (it’s hard to keep track of time in space when you’re fighting a bunch of grape-colored Furbies) when he and Keith Kogane really fight.

It’s not a playful battle of wordplay, or a bit of snarky roughhousing, or even their usual rivalry dynamic (which he knows is his fault, but it’s a lot easier to put any strong feelings down as anger and jealousy with a rival than as… anything else). This is loud, and hateful, and full of fury. It’s stupid, _ god _ it’s stupid, but they’re all so tired and scared and still new to this and Lance says something about how they should take a break, just a day or two, just to adjust, and all the while his eyes are locked on Keith’s dull slouch, the bags under Pidge’s eyes, the slump in Hunk’s shoulders, the sleeplessness in Shiro’s warm-but-distant gaze, and Keith fires something back based on the premise that there’s _ no vacations during war for god’s sake, it’s a war _ , and now Lance is standing and Keith is yelling and Lance is gone, sucked into the black hole of loss and homesickness and sadness, of caring so much you feel like you’re tearing at the seams, of being frozen in space while the world crumbles around you, and it all shatters when Keith hisses something about how “The Galra won’t wait for you to stop being a selfish coward-” and Lance lunges with a cry, because how _ dare _ he?

He gets one good hit in before Keith strikes back, swiping at the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth to match his armor and tackling Lance to the floor in one fluid motion as the others watch, stunned in their horror. But Lance has had too many years to count of wrestling with his siblings to be held down so easily, and slips out of the hold, snarling something indistinguishable, and then it really is all out war between them, and in the background Pidge is yelling and Hunk and Shiro are moving to separate them and Allura and Coran are rushing in, mouths agape, but all Lance can hear is the fact that _ Keith _ thinks _ he’s _ selfish. And a coward.

“At least I’m- not the one- who dropped out- you _ asshole _-“ he grunts, uncharacteristic cruelty lacing the words, because he knows Keith didn’t drop out, knows he was booted, saw it happen and felt a twinge of pity as it did, but there’s a certain malicious streak surrounding it too powerful to be stopped.

And it’s a good thing that Hunk grabs him by the arms and pulls him back, but maybe not in the moment, because Keith saw the chance to punch him in the face and took it before realizing his rival was now defenseless, fist impacting with Lance’s face just as he roared “At least I’m taking this _ seriously _!”

Everything stops. Pidge’s upset voice, rising in pitch, cuts off. Hunk freezes from where he’s holding Lance. Allura and Coran are stock-still anyway, but they’re absolutely frozen. Shiro takes the chance to pull Keith back, but even that is stilted and hesitant. They’re far from Earth, but it might have stopped spinning for all they knew. A silence stretches out, and it’s cold and uncomfortable. Keith looks at Lance, and if there was ever a moment where he knew he’d crossed a line, it was now.

Because Lance looks like he’s going to throw up. Hunk’s tight grasp on him changes to a protective hold, as if afraid that he might actually fall over. Lance takes a breath, and everyone in the room holds theirs, expecting him to scream or rant or collapse. But he breathes it in and lets it out slow, and tentatively prods at his eye, growing more puffy by the minute. The achingly quiet room is waiting.

And he doesn’t say a word. The flash of hurt Keith saw has vanished, as if it had never existed. Lance McClain shakes off Hunk’s loosening grip and walks to the medbay, usual saunter absent. He grabs two ice packs- what? He’s pissed at Keith, but he’s not a monster- and strides back, taking particular pleasure in the thud of the ice pack when he throws it at Keith’s chest and relishing in the confusion on said boy’s face, even as his guilt takes over.

He’s not a violent person. He’s _ never _ been a violent person. And for a terrifying moment, Lance doesn’t know if that’s true anymore.

Turning to leave, to go somewhere where he can acknowledge the hot ache spreading through his chest, he leaves with nothing but a calm phrase, settling like dust on every spare surface in the room: “Princess, forget about the break.”

They do. And time passes slow and fast and all at once, and the bruises fade, but neither of them forget a single thing about that day, even though they don’t talk about it for a long, _ long _ time. There are no apologies, no accusations, no words at all- they need each other to fight a war, and that’s as far as it’ll go- but it’s the first time they’ve tried to hurt each other, and a certain quiet tension often felt on the days after The Incident was the evidence that they succeeded. It was the first time they’ve truly fought, but it wouldn’t be the only time- they’re in space together much too long for that. 

* * *

Lance McClain is still seventeen when death grazes him, and of all people, Keith Kogane is there when he’s at his most vulnerable. The last few hours have been a hazy blur of excruciating pain and blissful unconsciousness, recent memories swirling with the present day. He thinks Shiro was there, heard him yell, heard weapons clashing, felt his wounds throb, but it was all distant, as if he was listening from underwater- sounds and thoughts bounce and reverberate around his head. But now there’s shouting, and everything hurts, but he drags his heavy eyes open in time to see Pidge, struggling for breath, _ helpless _.

No. Not on his freaking watch. He struggles to hold and aim his bayard, but Pidge is in danger, and no matter how much it hurts- oh, shit it hurts- he fires the shot, smirking weakly as he does. And the rest of the team takes their chance- Lance thinks he sees a flash of red and smiles a little.

_ Selfish. Coward _.

The smile lessens but comes back in full strength. It’s not like Keith was wrong, and _ he’s _ doing amazing right now- saving the universe like he was always meant to.

He slumps back over, lets his eyes close, and considers, for a single moment, that this could be it. He might die, here and now, too far away from home to say goodbye.

Suddenly there’s an unsettling quiet, and for a terrifying second, Lance thinks he’s already kicked the bucket.

But there’s a voice, worried and soft, and a face slowly coming into focus before his eyes.

“Lance… are you okay?” Keith offers a hand, and Lance takes it immediately, relying on him as he manages to sit up. His fellow paladin sits beside him, and they’re still holding hands, and Lance isn’t about to let go first, and his defenses are down just like the castle’s have been, and he lets his eyes trail over their hands, thinking blue and red look oh-so-good together, before smiling at nothing.

“We… did it.” He sighs, and for once there’s a peace settling in the room, and before he knows it another set of words have slipped out. “We are a… good team.”

And Keith actually smiles. It’s gentle and warm and for a moment everything feels right in the world, even if Lance is likely suffering from grave injuries. But he’s close, so so so close to falling, and he can’t tell whether it’s for the boy holding his hand or just out of consciousness, so he figures he’d better hurry it up and blurts out “Tryna… take… it serious… ly… sorry, _ Keith _ …” The words slur as he struggles to get them all out between breaths, but all of a sudden it’s too much effort to remain upright and he’s toppling into the other’s lap, eyelids growing heavy. Lance fights it, prying his eyes open with all his might, but he can’t do it for long, and his shallow inhales and exhales quicken in his desperation to say what he needs to. “Keith… don’t leave, _ please _… I don’t- I don’t want to go-“

He sees in the other’s dark eyes a flash of something unrecognizable before Keith shakes his head. “Not goin’ anywhere, McClain, shut up. You’re going to be fine, alright?” Keith seems frantic for some reason, tone hardening even as his pulse quickens, pounding rapidly beneath Lance’s gloved fingers, but the latter simply doesn’t have the energy to ask why.

“Just gonna… sleep now…”

He remembers strong arms sliding beneath his head and under his legs, lifting him up with a softness he’s never felt from the Red Paladin before. He remembers lights and colors and sounds mixing into one overwhelming mess, making him nuzzle closer into Keith’s warmth, too tired now to resist. He remembers suddenly feeling cold, so cold, and Lance _ hates _ the cold more than anything, and then there’s just- just a lot of nothing, and he’s wondering if this is dying.

He hopes not. Keith said it’d be okay. And he said he’d stay. Lance trusts Keith, he thinks.

But when he wakes up, there’s no one waiting by his pod. They’re all huddled in a corner talking about measuring time, and a quick beat of sour disappointment courses through him at the sight. Sure, he traipses over and asks what they’re doing, and they welcome him back, roll their eyes at a feeble fake-flirting attempt, fill him in on what he missed, on what happened after he tackled Coran, but…

Keith didn’t stay, not _ really _.

He’s not to know that his fellow paladins, Keith most of all, linger outside his pod for hours on end. Not to know that two seconds… er, ticks… before he woke up, Keith was waiting. Not to know that the promise wasn’t broken on purpose. He doesn’t know that yet, and won’t, for a long time to come.

So when Lance lets the lie dance off his tongue- “don’t remember it, didn’t happen”- he doesn’t feel even the slightest hint of guilt. He’s resigned to the fact that he’ll have to get used to coming within a centimeter of death… he didn’t think he’d face it alone, that’s all. The realization and the ugly emotion that comes with it arrives slow and fast and all at once, leaving him breathless. It’s the first time Lance almost dies, and the first time Keith leaves.

* * *


	2. oh, it’s what you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we love that sweet sweet mutual support.

Lance McClain still believes in the back of his head that soon they’ll go home and just get to be teenagers when he first sees Keith Kogane desperate and full of fear. 

He’s drumming his fingers on the edge of a console, wishing he had something to do as energy pulses through him, visible in the way he taps his feet and shifts in his seat, because Keith could be in danger, why are they just sitting here? How would they know if Shiro and him were attacked? He could be in danger, Lance should have gone-

And then they’re back, the Red Lion roaring as they come into view. Keith returns from the BOM base looking shell-shocked, Shiro standing tall behind him as they step into the hangar. 

Soon it all comes out. Keith is Galra. Which… okay, is a _ bit _ of a surprise, but Keith is certainly grumpy enough to be a space cat, so… Lance doesn’t get why it has to be a big deal. 

He says as much during the outbursts that follow. Allura has horror painted on her face like a second skin, as if Keith has somehow changed into a complete monster before her eyes. Coran has trepidation, and there is a cautious note present in his voice when he suggests that they regroup later, but Pidge is angry, Shiro speechless, and Hunk frozen. There’s a shouting match, but Lance’s eyes are locked on the shrinking outline, slumped shoulders belonging to the one and only Garrison golden boy, the Red Paladin, and the most stubborn person Lance has ever met. He’s never seen him like _ this _. There’s something swelling in Lance’s chest, an angry bitterness at the idea that Keith feels again an outcast in what should count as his closest friends- his family. Finally it bursts through, just as a “This changes things…” is muttered from an unidentifiable source. Because Lance is so, so done with prejudices.

“Does it? Does it really?” Lance swings his gaze from team member to team member, a single eyebrow raised. “I can’t believe you guys! Keith hasn’t changed. He’s not a _ spy _ , or a _ mole _ , or- or _ anything _ but a badass, strong, brave ninja with a penchant for scowling and a disgusting preference for black space-coffee. Jesus. Grow up. And apologize to him when you're ready.” He turns to go, but turns back. “I mean- you know he was scared, ** _right_ **? Like, terrified to tell you this thing that shouldn’t have mattered at all, and then you all reacted. Like that. Congrats, you’re all just like every racist kid in school.” Lance sighs, rubbing his eyes with sudden exhaustion. Hunk steps toward him, concern and guilt written into every movement, but Lance isn’t in the mood. “I have to go find Keith.’

Everyone has unfrozen by the time he’s down the hall, but he doesn’t pause for even a moment to listen to the murmurs, electing instead to march to Keith’s door and hammer on it like an asshole. Listen, it’s the only way he can guarantee Keith will open up. 

Open up he does. Eventually. With evident hesitation. That Lance ignores, hurrying in before the moody mullet emo-wannabe can change his mind on his entry and speaking without eye contact. 

“Listen, man-“

“You don’t have to say anything, Lance. I- I get it if you hate me- even more that you d-did-”

And maybe it’s the fact that he can count on one hand the amount of times Keith has said his name without annoyance or anger, or the fact that there are distinct tears welling up in Keith’s eyes no matter how hard he tries to hide them, or the fact that Keith looks so small hesitating in the doorway. Lance doesn’t know. But something makes him stride forward and pull Keith into a tight, lingering hug, letting his chin rest on the top of the other’s dark hair and holding him gently, one hand making soft circles on the other boy’s back. They stood there, silent for a moment, until Keith shifts, curling into himself as if Lance is about to attack when he least expects it, and Lance can’t accept that. He takes a deep breath, sucking in a quick burst of air as if he’s drowning and Keith himself is the oxygen his lungs are burning, craving, dying to receive. “I’ve… I’ve never hated you. And I’m not about to start now.” He tilts Keith’s chin toward him, meeting his eyes at last. “Keith. You haven't changed, okay? You’re still moody and obnoxiously talented and cu-cool, and-“ he swallows hard, hating the feeling of appearing bare and honest and vulnerable before a boy who, until now, didn’t show that he gave a _ shit _ about him or his opinions, “-the others will see that. Plus,” and he forces a smile, even though his heart is going to ** _fucking break_ ** if Keith keeps looking at him like he’s spilling the secrets to the universe when he’s only saying what anyone should be, “I’ve always got your six, golden boy.”

There’s a watery hint of a smile, and when Keith steps back awkwardly, a light embarrassed blush on his cheeks as Lance mutters something about the others coming around (as they will, and do, soon enough), Lance feels something hot in his chest, something painfully slotting into place when he didn’t know it was missing, like a joint popping back from dislocation, slow and fast and all at once. 

Simply put, it’s the first time Keith lets Lance in.

* * *

Lance McClain has stopped keeping track of the days spent in space by the time he lets Keith Kogane see beyond bluster and bravado again. Smudges of tally marks on cold alien metal walls feel inconsequential in the face of their humongous role in saving the universe. Struggling civilizations hardly care if one Cuban boy tasked with saving them holds back tears every time the alarm he’s set on his watch for 24 Earthen hours beeps and jolts him awake, flashes of a bomb and a scream and a heat and _ pain searing through him, burning through to his bare skin _real again, flashes fading as he breathes in slow and unsteady and draws another mark on a wall, knowing he’s got more to do, so why should he bother caring himself? 

The beeps still wake him though, cutting through the tinny sounds of an old playlist floating into his ears from Pidge’s ancient headphones until his eyes pop open, alert and apprehensive. 

It’s another night like this when he finally sits up, letting premature age settle into his shoulders before trudging into the hall without a destination. He ends up at Red, because of _ course _ he does, where else would he, _ could _ he go, now that Shiro is gone, and Blue won’t let him in, and everything is totally, entirely, royally gone to hell?

The only real surprise is that Keith is there too. He’d have thought the dude would be busy. Y’know, fighting things?

He knows there are tear tracks on his cheeks, knows it’s probably obvious that Lance The Crybaby is back again, but he’s too busy pretending not to notice the other to care. Staring up at the huge mechanical robot makes him feel small, yes, but Lance is used to that. He can deal with feeling small. As long as he’s alive. Which he is. He’s alive. 

But he can’t breathe. 

_ Breath in, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4. Breath out, 1, 2, 3, 4. _ He can hear his mother’s soft voice, coaxing him off a metaphorical ledge, but she’s far away now, too far to go to for comfort, and now he’s struggling to heave in any oxygen at all, if that is in fact what they’re breathing on this alien castleship-

“Lance!”

There’s alarm in Keith’s voice, because he’s been sitting here for the larger part of a varga and it’s the first sound the normally loud teen has made.

He can’t breathe- he can’t breathe- he can’t- 

There are hands on his shoulders now, pressing down lightly, and Lance tries to concentrate on the pressure but _ he can’t breathe _-

“Breathe in for- one, two, three, four.” Keith’s voice is raspy, quiet, urgent, and the words sound so familiar that it hurts. Shuddering, Lance tries, and after a moment manages to let it in slowly, to hold, to let the breath out, Keith’s voice fading into the background but guiding him back to the present. 

And he can breathe. His face is flushed and he can’t look Keith in the eye, but he can breathe again. 

“Are- are you okay?”

There’s a distinct warmth to the way Keith speaks now, at space-three-something in the space-morning. So Lance nods, tired now, and drags his eyes up Keith’s frame, so protective even as he carefully backs up to give him space, all the way to those beautiful purple eyes, fixed unblinkingly only on him. 

“Yeah.” (No, not even close.) His voice cracks halfway through, and damn, could this night be any more embarrassing? 

Lance wants so badly to go, to get out, to go back to staring at the ceiling and ignoring the nightmares that returned once Shiro was gone. Before, he’d gone to the space- kitchen (“Lance, stop adding space to every normal word just to make it cool. Saying kitchen is fine.” “... Shiro. We are legit farther from our home planet than was ever thought possible, out fighting a gigantic space war spanning the universe, piloting a bunch of space robot cats, and you expect me to use boring old words? Nuh-uh.”) and nine times out of ten would find their Valiant Supreme Leader, The Pilot Of The Black Lion, Head Of Voltron sat slumped in a chair sipping space-coffee rearranging space-alphabet magnets on the space-fridge to make inspirational space-messages. Lance would fill up his own mug and they’d sit in silence until one of them broke it. After a few movements Lance had forgotten the feeling of waking up in a cold sweat. But Shiro is gone, maybe dead. And Lance has nowhere to go, and Keith looks almost as bad as he feels, slightly baggy eyes drooping as he holds his gaze. So he clears his throat roughly and does what he does best. Distract. 

“So, mullet, what brings you to this neck of the woods, _ pardner _?” Lance drawls the words in the most ridiculous Southern accent he can muster and gets exactly what he’s after: a flash of interest quickly hidden behind nonchalance. 

Keith scoffs, attempting to hide an uncharacteristically soft quirk at the corner of his mouth with the sound. “We’re on one castleship, Lance. Not too many places to go.”

Lance rolls his eyes, internally cheering. “Is this town big enough for the two o’ us?” He mimes loading a rifle and is rewarded with an honestly adorable sputter of laughter. Wow. Keith at space-three-o’clock-in-the-space-morning is the best. 

All too soon Keith sobers, and it seems like his attention is back on Lance. “Does that-uh-happen often?”

Lance’s smile drops, eyes falling to the floor, his silence an admission. “Do you wander here often?”

Keith shrugs, a small puff of air escaping in a sigh. “Just to think.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow. Pauses. Thinks. “I don’t have two pennies to give you, but…”

There’s a scoff, edged with humor. “That’s alright.” Then Keith grows serious, his eyebrows quirking upward just a tad as he shifts to sit beside him. “Should I be worried?”

(He.. doesn’t have an answer. But silence is not the best friend of Lance McClain, dear reader, and so you must forgive him for throwing a gigantic Uno Reverse card at his current probably best friend rather than answering with any sort of actual honesty.) 

“C’mon, dude, you got enough on your plate. How are you managing? I know it, uh, it can’t be easy.” He stares at his fingernails, nervous to see Keith’s expression. “If you need anything-“

“I’m fine.”

Lance gave him his best i-am-not-actually-an-idiot-despite-all-appearances stare, and Keith caved, because of course he did. 

“I’m. Not great, but it’s going to be okay. We’ll find Shiro, and then it’ll all be okay.” Keith didn’t even sound convinced himself, but for his sake Lance really really _ really _ doesn’t dare argue. 

“Okay.” He hums softly for a moment, ignoring his still-pounding heart and letting out a shaky sigh, reacting defensively when Keith’s hand gently rises, leaning as far away as possible before realizing what he was doing and pausing, flushing. Wow. Great job, Lance. Now he’ll totally think you’re strong and brave and cool. A for effort. 

Keith pointedly doesn’t comment, instead wrapping an arm around him, loose enough that he could free himself, tight enough to stabilize him. He closes his eyes, blinking away blurry spots in his vision as he does so, daring to allow his unusually stiff posture to melt into a slump against his leader’s side, head on his shoulder. The new Black Paladin does nothing but sit and murmur calm words every so often, and slow and fast and all at once, Lance feels safer than he’s felt in a very long time, tucked up against Keith Kogane in a robot hangar with thousands of stars visible as he drifts off to sleep.

And Lance realizes- he trusts Keith more than anyone now.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this has not been abandoned and i’m back with another installment y’all! this is a short one and i apologize but hopefully updates will come faster! hasta la later! pleaseeee comment below with your thoughts because i live for human interaction xo

**Author's Note:**

> so! this is just a little late-night writing i’ve done as i slowly move on from my denial! more chapters to come! thanks for reading- if you’d like to leave a comment below, feel free, i love to talk and hear from you and comments fuel my typing fingers so,,, yeah!


End file.
